


Myrish Rose

by CommaSplice



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blissfully happy in her newly wedded state, Walda Bolton (née Frey) decides to redecorate the house while her beloved Roose is away on a business trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Myrish Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladyoftarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/gifts).



> Spoilers for Season 3 and A Storm of Swords
> 
> This was inspired by [this Tumblr post](http://loveyourcrookedneighbour.tumblr.com/post/72091545616) and a discussion in the JB chat where [LadyofTarth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth/works) convinced me this was a story that needed to be written
> 
> I have aged Walda in this story to about 21-22.

* * *

Walda consulted the YouTube videos she had bookmarked and carefully packed her husband’s clothing into his suitcase and garment bag. She took her time, pausing and replaying the video to make certain she was folding and rolling every item correctly. She liked to get things right and she wanted everything to be perfect. If they had to be separated, she wanted her darling Roose to know that he was loved.

Finally, satisfied that even Martha Stewart could not have done a better job, she tucked in the packet of letters she had written him on pink, scented stationary. If she could have trusted to the post, they would have arrived for him properly at the hotel, but with this crazy weather she wasn't sure how long it would take for letters from the North to reach the Twins. She would have liked to accompany him on this trip, but Roose had been very firm. It was business. Both he and her grandfather were going to be occupied. He wanted her to stay here.

She zipped up the suitcase and the garment bag. He would want to pack his own carry-on, but she placed two letters in that as well. 

“Walda?”

She turned around, threw her arms around the neck of her husband, and showered his face with kisses. She knew he was still startled by her affection. He was starved for love, the poor sweetling. 

“Walda, I have to pack,” he protested. But there was a smile on his face and she knew he didn't really mind.

“I already did it for you,” Walda informed him. “So we would have more time together.”

Roose's smile withered away. “I know you mean well, Walda, but I prefer to do such things for myself.” 

Walda submitted when he removed himself from her embrace. She knew he must be cross after working so hard. She watched as he unzipped the garment bag and inspected her work. When he frowned, she grew anxious. “Did I forget something?”

“No.” He went through the suitcase as well. “It’s all here and you packed everything perfectly,” he said, sounding surprised. “Thank you.” He drew out the letters. “What are these?”

“Love letters.”

He was puzzled. “I am only going to be away for four days.”

Logic had no place in a love affair. Walda knew he didn't quite understand this yet, but she was right and in time he would, so she blithely ignored him.

“I will have internet access and you may phone me if the need arises.”

“That’s not the same. You deserve real love letters.”

Roose stared at her the way he so often did.

Walda knew this was because he just wasn't used to being loved properly. “Please? For me?”

“Very well.” He returned the letters to the suitcase, quirked his lips upwards, and disappeared into the bathroom to wash up. 

Walda zipped up the luggage again. She turned off the laptop and she looked around the bedroom. Walda had never been so happy in all her life, but if there was one thorn in an otherwise dazzling bouquet of roses—well, other than Ramsay, but he was away for at least the next five-to-ten years (Walda had never cared very deeply about the penal system before, but she had been overjoyed when the court ruled her stepson was fit to stand trial. She was sorry for Roose of course, and hid her glee like a good wife would)—it was her new home. 

The house at the Dreadfort was large and it was well appointed, but it was very gloomy. All the colors and furniture were so conservative and so boring. Even the master bathroom was, well, almost institutional with its white and black subway tiles and the bright white shower curtain. She didn't like the paintings and prints with which the walls of the house were lined. They weren't . . . well, they weren't nice. She knew most of them were heirlooms. When she’d questioned Roose about the print that hung in their bedroom depicting some man skinned alive, he told her it had always been there. When she asked about the shadowboxes filled with the strangely curved knives, she got the same answer. There were lots of odd objects and artifacts in the cupboards. Most of the things in the house had “always been there.” It never seemed to occur to him that he didn't have to live this way. Walda had spent the first few months of her marriage observing him and had come to one very definite conclusion: her beloved Roose was being stifled by the past. 

She heard the water running now. He was going to take a shower. She undressed quickly and went to join her dear, sweet husband. She wasn't quite sure how to do most of those things she’d seen lovers do in the movies, but she thought Roose would and that he might be willing to teach her. As it turned out, he did and was.

* * *

Roose was less than pleased about his flight being routed to Sunspear. From the bits of conversation wafting about the seating area at the airport, none of his fellow passengers were happy either.

“It is ridiculous,” an older well-dressed woman fumed to no one in particular. She was impossible to ignore. She had reduced the gate agent to tears. “Why must I go south when my destination is hundreds of miles to the west?”

He shared her frustration, but he wasn't interested in conversation. He opened up his newspaper and turned to the business section. The headlines were full of the hostile takeover of the Stark Corporation. Some journalist, one with a history background no doubt, waxed quite poetic about the parallels between this and the original “Red Wedding.” The players were from the same once great houses and the end results, while nowhere near as physically destructive, were similar. Tywin Lannister was now firmly in control of the Stark Corporation. Roose and Walder Frey had been granted subsidiary holdings for their efforts. It was a highly satisfactory state of affairs. He could have done without the media attention, but it would die down quickly enough. The Lannisters with their colorful not-so-private lives and even the oft-married Walder Frey were far more interesting to the press than the very quiet, very private Roose Bolton. Not for the first time, he was grateful for his anonymous appearance. It had always served him well in the past when he was engaged in his private . . . pursuits.

The look on Catelyn Stark’s face had been quite satisfying and he’d taken particular pleasure in seeing how gutted her arrogant son had been. He would have liked a more personal and permanent solution, but these were modern times and one needed to be careful with one’s pleasures. His bastard would have done better to learn this lesson; Roose had told him so repeatedly. The days when one could act with impunity were long gone. The police were not fools.

The intercom squawked to life. A flight attendant announced yet another gate change. The passengers in the adjacent area groaned and rose, and a young man in too much of a hurry tripped over Roose’s leather carry-on. The bag fell over and Walda’s love letters spilled out.

The woman next to him reached down and picked them up. She glanced at the envelopes. “It’s gratifying to see that someone still knows how to put pen to paper. My grandchildren inform me it’s all done by text and email these days.”

Roose smiled automatically. He held out his hand.

“Although I wasn't aware this was still in the vernacular.” She pointed with her elegantly manicured fingernail to the inscription on the backs of the envelopes before returning them. 

He glanced at the acronym. He had no idea what “S.W.A.K” stood for, but he wasn't about to ask.

“‘Sealed with a kiss,’ the woman explained, her eyebrows arching.

“I’m newly married,” he told her in a neutral voice. 

“To a sixteen-year-old?”

Roose was growing irritated, but he had to admit this old lady had a point. The envelopes were pink. They were scented with some migraine-inducing perfume and Walda had dotted her “I’s” with little hearts. Nonetheless it was no one’s business but his.

“Evidently she didn't feel the acronym was sufficient.”

He glanced down. Walda had left lipstick kisses across the backs of the envelopes as well.

“Will Olenna Tyrell please approach Gate #12? Will Olenna Tyrell please approach Gate #12?”

“Finally.”

He was relieved when the woman collected her belongings and went to find Gate #12. He returned to his newspaper and read for a time. Flights came and went. His was delayed until finally, the not unexpected announcement came that the plane would not be arriving and that the passengers would need to spend the night in Sunspear. 

He was fortunate to find a hotel and he settled in for the evening. When he called Walda to inform her of this change in his plans, he was expecting disappointment. Instead she sounded relieved. “What’s that noise?”

“My brother and sisters are here. We’re working on a surprise for you.”

“I am not fond of surprises, Walda.” He was not particularly fond of her family either, but he would make her understand this when he returned.

She assured him he would like this one. She peppered him with questions. Had he eaten? Was he sleeping? Was he taking care of himself?

Roose answered these patiently. 

“Did you like my letters?”

He hadn't read any of them. "It was kind of you to write them for me," he said neutrally.

“What about the photos?” Her voice grew seductive. 

Roose was saved the necessity of a reply by the sound of something crashing in the background. “Walda? What was that?”

"I'll be right back." She put the phone down. 

While she was investigating, he slit the envelopes open. The letters were . . . Roose wasn't certain what to think. Each was written in an overly elaborate hand. She had decorated the margins with various doodles of hearts and flowers. The message in every one was nearly identical.

_My darling husband, I think of you morning, noon, and night. You are my sweet love and I count the days until we shall be in bed together again. Return soon so we can make beautiful babies. Although I know I can never replace the ache in your heart from the loss of your dear Domeric, the sons I give you will be rightful heirs to your legacy._

Roose did not drink, but for the first time in his life, he thought he understood the appeal. She had also enclosed photos in every envelope. Some of these were snaps of the two of them. Others were quite . . . provocative.

“Ami dropped something, but it didn't break.”

“Who took these photographs?” he demanded.

Walda giggled. “They’re mostly selfies, but Ami took the one of me on the bed.”

“Selfies?" 

“Pictures I took of myself with my phone. I printed them out on special paper so you could have them to look at. I miss you so much. Do you miss me?”

It was impossible to be irritated with Walda. “Always.” Strangely enough, it was true. She could be childish and she did not understand him in the least, but he enjoyed coming home to her. 

“I wanted to give you something so that you would be thinking of me.”

He eyed the picture of her posed on the bed. She was clad in a baby doll nightie that must be new. She was on her knees, sucking a finger, and looking playfully at the camera. “You’ll have to wear this for me when I return.”

She promised she would. She told him she had bought several things with him in mind, and she began to breathily tell him all about them. 

And then he heard another crash. “Walda, what's going on?”

“It’s your surprise. I promise you’ll be pleased! I have to go. I love you.” She made kissing noises into the phone and hung up.

Roose rubbed his temples. He had grown oddly fond of Walda, but there were times when it was very wearing being married to someone with the emotional intellect of a fifteen-year-old girl. Still. Of the women he’d been married to, she was the most enthusiastic and adventurous in bed and it was gratifying to know that at fifty, he could bring a young woman to multiple orgasms. There was also something strangely endearing about her; Walda was so insistent about declaring how good and kind he was that he couldn't help but find her amusing.

* * *

As much as she missed her husband, Walda was glad she had the extra day. It had taken her much longer than she expected. She hadn't been able to do everything she wanted, but at least most of the house would be cheery now. It would be a home for them rather than merely a house.

The extra day allowed her to make sure everything was ready. Walda had needed the time to clean up after her redecorating efforts. She prided herself on being meticulous, but her sister was not so particular. Walda dealt with the paint drips. She removed the bits of blue painters' tape her siblings had left behind. Every tarp, every paint tray and brush—she made sure they were in their proper places in the cellar. It all needed to be perfect. Roose liked things to be tidy.

She painstakingly cooked all of Roose’s favorite foods. He had never actually told her they were his favorites; Roose tended to claim he didn’t care about such things, but Walda had taken careful note of the dishes from which he took second helpings. These were the things she prepared. They would just need reheating. 

She took her time with her appearance. She wanted to look as beautiful as she possibly could for Roose. Ami had just told her about a new diet, but Roose seemed to like her curves. 

She drove to the airport, relieved that her chattering siblings had left earlier that day. Although he had never said so directly, Walda knew Roose was uncomfortable with lots of people around. It would be different though after they started having babies. She loved children and she meant to have at least five. 

Walda wasn't stupid. She knew Grandfather had given Roose money after he married her. In the old days no one would have blinked; it would have been called her dowry. Ami and Marissa had said a few hurtful things while they were helping her. So what if Roose was older? He was good to her and so generous. It wasn’t like being back at home where every time she moved she was tripping over relatives where she had to fight to be noticed or heard. Roose listened to her. He appreciated her.

His flight was on time. She waited patiently at the gate, scanning the faces of the arriving passengers. Finally she saw him. She tackled him enthusiastically.

“Walda,” he said reprovingly after a moment.

She let go of him and linked her arm through his as they went down to the baggage claim area. She knew he didn't like public displays of affection, but she couldn't help it. 

“What is this surprise?” He scanned the carousel looking for his luggage.

“You have to wait till we get home.” She couldn't wait to see his face.

* * *

Roose was known as being a man of few words, but he had always been able to articulate his thoughts whenever he chose to before. He was dumbstruck now. Walda dragged him from room to room showing him her handiwork. The border in the kitchen was irritating, but he could tolerate it. She’d found a pattern of pink and red cabbage roses against a black background. They had few people over. He had seen worse. But as the tour of her decorating efforts continued, he realized he was seeing worse.

There were more borders in the living room, the dining room, the hallway, the downstairs bathroom. He hadn't known such offensive wallpaper existed. Hearts and flowers were everywhere he looked. The prints and pictures he was used to seeing had been replaced with photos of them, cheery floral studies, and pleasant landscapes. The walls of every room were either pink or red. 

He simply could not bring himself to speak.

Then she brought him to their bedroom.

“Don’t you like it?”

The bulk of her time and his money had clearly been spent here. She’d painted the walls pink. Over the bed was some sort of ersatz canopy with lengths of gauzy pink and red fabric he thought he’d once heard termed chiffon. There was a rose-colored comforter and at least five pillows in varying hues of pink, black, and red. She'd scattered rose petals on the top of the comforter. Over the windows, she’d hung pink, black, and red striped drapes. It was . . .

“Say something,” she begged. 

Roose knew if he spoke, he was likely to kill her. 

Walda's face fell. Her pretty eyes filled with tears. “You hate it,” she whispered. “I thought . . . they’re your house colors.”

Roose stared at her. 

“I looked them up: red on pink. In the picture I found in the upstairs hall, there’s black too. I wanted to make the house more cheerful. You said I could do what I liked.” 

He had. 

“It’s my favorite color. I just . . . I always wanted a pink room. Grandfather said I needed to avoid things that would make people call me a fat sow.”

“Is there any more?” he managed finally.

“I put up a border in the master bathroom,” she confessed.

“Of?” He hoped to the gods it wasn't more flowers. After what she’d done to the upstairs hall . . . “Of what?” he asked again when she didn't answer. 

Walda looked down at her feet. “Kittens.”

“Kittens?” 

“And there are some pink towels and a new shower curtain and a new rug.”

“What is on the rug?” When she didn't answer, he went to see for himself. Not only were there kittens on the border, but she had found pink and red kitten soaps to go in a pink soap dish, a pink rug depicting kittens cavorting playfully with balls of string, a pink and red shower curtain with more kittens, and the aforementioned towels. He felt his jaw opening. 

“It’s mostly Hello Kitty.”

With a superhuman effort, Roose managed to close his mouth. 

He went back into the bedroom. She had her hands covering her eyes and she was peeking out at him. “Walda, I’m not . . . mad,” he told her. To his surprise, he realized he meant it. “Did you do anything else? You didn't paint the cellar walls pink, did you? Or do anything to my office?” 

She shook her head. “I didn't have time.”

That was all right then. She hadn't found the compartment in the office wall where he kept his knives. “What did you do with the things that were here before?” 

“They’re in the spare bedroom. I didn't throw anything out.”

Roose carefully closed the door to the bathroom. He thought about this. “The borders, the pillows, what you've done in here, all of it may stay. You will return the towels, the shower curtain, and the rug.” 

“The soaps?”

“Fine, you may keep those as well. I draw the line at pink walls and hearts and flowers in the dining room and the living room. You will repaint them.”

Walda looked at him hopefully. “Myrish rose is a very popular color.”

“What is Myrish rose?” He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She pointed to the comforter. “What if I redid the dining room in that shade?” 

“Walda.”

She bit her lip. “I just wanted to please you. You've been so good to me. I’m so happy with you. I never knew I could be so happy.” She took his hand in hers and told him earnestly, “You are such a kind, gentle man.”

Roose started to laugh then. He couldn't help it. The longer they were together, the more she insisted how sweet he was. “You bring it out in me,” he managed as he reached for her.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [LadyofTarth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth/works)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to [LadyofTarth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyoftarth/pseuds/Ladyoftarth) who did this brilliant illustration for me linked [here](http://ladyoftarth-posts.tumblr.com/post/73835941921/a-first-collaborative-effort-with-another-author)


End file.
